bittersweet mercy
by whatanauthorsgottado
Summary: Natan Solveign is going mad. Or so it feels, between imprisonment, release, playing the hero, and falling in love. But maybe it's worth it, in the end.
1. Chapter 1

_Warning: Cisnormativity, some transphobia, and pronoun stuff in the narration._

_This fic has been written such that the main, trans character's pronouns match how they feel that they can present in that situation. I know how important pronouns are – I'm under that umbrella – so rest assured that I'm not doing it to be transphobic. I'm sorry if this makes you uncomfortable, and I hope you can find something to read that's excellent and will not make you uncomfortable._

* * *

Anne Marie scowled at the bars of their cell. This entire situation was bullshit and everyone involved knew it, but here they were, still imprisoned.

The Altmer in the cell across from them was apparently trying to rile them up, but Anne Marie wasn't listening and had no intention of doing so. They just sighed and sat at the tiny table in the cell, intending on remaining in that spot until they were released or died.

At least it would be better than where they had been last week.

But anything was better than wasting away in Bravil.

Their reverie was interrupted by the door at the top of the stairs slamming open and heavy boots thundering down to their level. Anne Marie counted three soldiers and one robed figure whose face they couldn't get a good look at as the group congregated around their cell door.

"Why is there a prisoner in there? This cell is supposed to be off limits!"

"Usual mix-up with the guards, probably," one of the other soldiers muttered in reply. "Doesn't matter." He turned to Anne Marie. "Back against the wall, prisoner. Don't move and we won't have to hurt you."

Anne Marie raised an eyebrow but backed against the far wall of their cell regardless, raising their hands in front of them to show that they weren't going to move. The cell door opened, and the soldier who'd spoken to them stood between them and the rest of the group as they all squeezed into the cell together.

The robed figure came into view as he passed by, hardly glancing at Anne Marie on his way – until he froze and looked back at their face.

"You're the one that I've seen in my dreams," Uriel Septim VII, the goddamn Emperor of Tamriel, whispered as he stared at them.

Anne Marie stared back, unable to move, until the first guard who'd spoken said, "Sire, we must keep moving."

The Emperor composed himself and followed the guard into a passage that until a moment ago had been the wall beside Anne Marie's bed.

The soldier in front of Anne Marie gestured for them to follow as he took the rear of the group. "It's your lucky day. You might as well, since it's open anyway."

Anne Marie nodded, still confused by the behaviour of the Emperor, and followed a short distance behind the soldier.

They were far enough behind that they didn't realize that the group had been attacked until all the assailants and one of the soldiers were dead. The remaining two formed up ahead of and behind the Emperor and continued on.

The soldier behind paused as the group headed through a door. "Don't try to follow us from here." He hesitated, then glanced significantly at a corner of the room. "I hear some of these walls might be a little thin. You might be able to find another way out."

Anne Marie nodded and backed off, and the soldier disappeared through the door, which locked behind him.

Immediately, they headed over to the corner and inspected the wall. Sure enough, some of the stones were cracked, and it took only a few blows for the small corner section to collapse into a hole large enough for Anne Marie to squeeze through.

They prepared a fireball and headed deeper into the labyrinth under the prison.

Page Break

They heard voices in the next room and approached cautiously. The voices didn't sound like goblin grunts, but one could never be too careful in any case.

As it turned out, Anne Marie had caught up with the Emperor's escort again. As they dropped into the room, so did a number of other figures who immediately went on the attack.

Anne Marie immediately lobbed a fireball at one of the attackers. It hit him in the face, dropping him immediately. The soldiers quickly dispatched the remainder; one of them turned then to Anne Marie, approaching with his sword drawn.

"It's that prisoner again!"

"Don't kill him!" the Emperor commanded. "He is not one of them."

He approached Anne Marie and reached out his hands to take theirs, a gesture that felt oddly paternal and familiar coming from a man they'd never met.

They couldn't bring themselves to mind.

"Thank you," they said quietly.

He shook his head as though it wasn't important. "They don't understand why I trust you. They cannot see, they have not seen, what I have."

"What have you seen?"

"A great many things, the most important of which in this case is that you will save us all. The gods shall guide you in becoming Tamriel's salvation."

"The gods and I aren't on the best of terms."

"Regardless. I have seen it. The stars chart your course, and mine, and the end of mine has been revealed to me." His face took on a solemn cast. "I will not make it out of this prison. But... we have a little farther yet to go before we part. Come. Your stars shall rise soon enough, child of the Lover."

Anne Marie blinked in confusion as he pulled away from them and followed his guards along. _How... did he know?_

_Is he insane? Or did he really foresee this?_

Thoughts whirling in their mind, they followed the group into the next room, where the soldiers were arguing over a barred door. They turned away and ducked down a side passage, and Anne Marie followed them in just in time to be told to guard the Emperor as the guards rushed back out to deal with the new wave of assassins springing their trap.

The Emperor turned to Anne Marie. "This is the end. Tell me, before I know no more: what is your name?"

That was a loaded question, but something in them forced out an answer before they could think.

"Natan Solveign."

"Natan." The Emperor took their hand again, and they felt something cold being pressed into it. "I feel towards you as a father, though we have not met in the flesh. My son-in-arms, I leave you with this responsibility: take the Amulet of Kings to Jauffre, at Weynon Priory. I and my sons are believed to be the last heirs of the Septim line... but there remains one. Jauffre can find him. You must bring the amulet to Jauffre."

Natan didn't even have time to reply before an assassin leapt from the shadows and sliced through Uriel's spine, dropping him instantly. The assassin didn't have time to celebrate their victory before a flash of fire flew from Natan's left hand and burnt them to a crisp.

Natan dropped beside Uriel, but it was too late to do anything but close the man's eyes.

One of the soldiers came back into the room and stopped dead.

"I've failed..."

He came over to the body and searched him for a moment before frowning and turning on Natan. "Where's the Amulet of Kings?"

Natan opened his right hand to reveal the amulet. "He... gave it to me. Told me to take it to Jauffre so we can find the last Septim heir."

"All the heirs were killed... but if the Emperor said there's another, and that Jauffre knows about him, I'm not going to question him. Jauffre's the Grand Master of our order, the Emperor's left hand, and the Emperor..."

Natan closed his hand around the Amulet of Kings and placed it carefully into his belt pouch, enchanted to only open at his touch.

"He said I can find Jauffre at Weynon Priory. Where is that?"

"Weynon Priory is just outside of Chorrol, northwest of the Imperial City. Should only be a few hours' walk from the sewer exit of the prison."

"Great. Isn't the way to the exit barred?"

"There's gotta be another way..." Natan and the soldier checked around the room and found a passage barely large enough for Natan to pass through.

Once he was through, the soldier nodded. "Go straight to Jauffre. Tell him that Baurus is in the Imperial City, awaiting orders."

"Got it." Natan headed for the sewers.

Page break

Natan breathed deeply of the fresh air as he emerged from the sewer tunnel. He didn't glance at his clothes before running for the river and leaping in.

As soon as he'd scrubbed himself relatively clean, Natan faced the northwest. The dawn was starting to rise behind him, lighting the eastern horizon in a riot of colours, and he glanced back at it for a moment before starting his journey towards Chorrol.

Besides the occasional mudcrab or wolf, both of which were easily dispatched and therefore not an issue, Natan made it to Weynon without encountering anyone. The stable man at the Priory pointed him in Jauffre's direction, and Natan entered the Priory's main building.

Natan could feel the monks looking at him as he headed up the stairs to Jauffre's study, but he didn't really care. Let them look. Let them stare, let them judge. It didn't affect him.

You'd think that one would start believing their own self-deceptions after so many years.

He came to the study door and knocked, and was called in. Natan shut the door behind himself.

"Are you Jauffre?"

"I am. And you are?"

"Natan Solveign. The Emperor sent me with this." He pulled the Amulet of Kings from his belt pouch, let it dangle from his hand to show it.

Jauffre stood in his shock. "You - how did you get – the Emperor sent you?"

"I was there when he died. He told me to get this to you, and that you could tell me where the last Septim is."

Jauffre let out a harsh breath. "Why should I know?"

"Baurus said you were his order's Grand Master. I'm assuming he means the Emperor's secretive bodyguards. He also said to tell you he's in the Imperial City waiting for orders."

Jauffre studied Natan. He felt like his very innards were being examined to see if he was useful to this man. Finally, he shut his eyes and sighed.

"Very well. Give me the Amulet, and I will tell you where the heir is."

Natan hesitated only a moment before handing over the Amulet of Kings. If the Emperor trusted this man, he supposed he could, too... even if that trust was clearly a one-way street.

Jauffre wrapped the Amulet in a scrap of cloth and placed it into a drawer in his desk before he spoke again.

"The last Septim Heir... Uriel's illegitimate son, who was given to me and hidden at an early age. His name is Martin. He is a priest in the Chapel of Akatosh in Kvatch. He does not know his true heritage. If the Emperor is calling for Martin to take the throne, then his heirs, too, must be dead." Jauffre looked Natan straight in the eyes. "The situation will soon grow dire. You must bring Martin here as quickly as possible."

"I was already planning on it. Anything else I should know before I leave?"

"The Emperor's assassins may already know of your survival, and if they do, you must be prepared to face them at every turn. I have some supplies that I keep here for travelling Blades, should you have need of anything. Otherwise, go now and swiftly."

Jauffre indicated a chest, and Natan dug through it, taking only some potions – the heavy armor in the chest would only slow him down, and he was untrained in swordsmanship. His daggers would do.

Natan nodded to Jauffre as he left Weynon Priory behind.

Page break

Dusk was falling on Natan's second full day of travel as he arrived at the walls of Kvatch to find them smoking and surrounded by razor-clawed imps for half a mile around. He cursed and drew back into the tree line, watching as a group of taller Daedra stomped past the spot where he'd been standing.

Natan turned west, taking a path through brush to follow the perimeter of Daedra and remain hidden. He went as fast as he could, slashing out with his dagger to clear a path, since magic would draw their attention.

He made it most of the way around the walls without issue, but ended up having to detour south to avoid the cliff that cut off the line of trees. It was a blessing and a curse, as the Daedra mostly stuck around the walls, so Natan was able to start moving faster a few feet from his former path.

He arrived at the refugee camp at a flat-out run and didn't pause to speak to anyone as he ran up the path towards the city gates.

As he approached the top of the hill, the sky turned from dark blue to blood red, and the clouds were cut through by jagged lines of lightning, appearing and not fading. Natan slowed as his thoughts raced faster.

What the hell were they facing?

He knew without a doubt that this was connected to the Emperor's murder, and his mind whirled to connect the dots: Daedra, mysterious mage-assassins all wearing the same robes, the Emperor and the Amulet of Kings and the Heirs the first targets.

This was a Daedric cult, there was no mistaking it. And if he wasn't further mistaken, the force at play here was the Mythic Dawn, the legendary and shadowed cult of Mehrunes Dagon.

Natan scowled and picked up his pace.

The guards of Kvatch would need all the help they could get in beating these bastards back.

Page break

"You want to do _what_?!"

"I'm going to close that Oblivion Gate. It's the only way to end this siege and take back Kvatch."

"And you think you can do it alone? I sent a whole squad of men in there to do that days ago, and none of them have come back."

"Were any of them mages? Any kind of mage."

"What does that have to do with it?"

This guard captain was a real idiot. "None of them would have known anything about Oblivion. I was trained in Conjuration by a Guild-trained Master Conjurer." Natan pressed his thumb into his chest. "I know what I'm do-ing."

The guard captain threw up his hands. "Fine. But it's on your own head if you don't come out. If or when you do come out, we may end up needing your help for the final clearing of Kvatch." The man sighed. "It's not that I don't believe you. It's just that my men haven't come back, and I don't want to become responsible for the deaths of anyone else."

Natan nodded, accepting the implied apology, and headed for the Oblivion Gate. The captain and his few remaining men formed up behind him, and the archers punched a way through the Daedra for Natan to slip into the Gate.

Page break

Natan took a second to get used to the feeling of Oblivion in his bones, his magic unused to adapting to the realm's ebb and flow after so long without practice. But he could call up a fireball just fine, so he put it to good use frying the closest attacking Daedra.

He fought his way through the flow of scamps flooding out through the Gate up to a back door into the massive, glowing central tower that obviously housed his way of closing the Gate.

Natan had never opened an Oblivion Gate purposefully, never mind closed one from inside, so he wasn't entirely sure how one went about doing so. But there was a first time for everything, he supposed, so it was high time he get on with his.

Slowly but surely, Natan made his way up inside the tower, to the very top, where the pillar of fire that ran down through the tower's centre flowed from a stone orb floating near the tower's apex.

Natan knocked the stone out of the pillar of fire, expecting that to be the method of closing the gate. He was correct, but what he was not expecting was the stone sticking near his hand as he withdrew it. He shrugged and put it in his belt pouch for later inspection.

Then, the expanding pillar of flames consumed him, and he felt himself being dragged back to Mundus.

Page break

The guard captain had to pick his jaw up off the ground as Natan pulled himself off the ground. "You... you did it!"

"I did tell you I could..."

The captain wasn't listening. "That's - amazing! You're going to turn the tide of this whole damn war!" He became serious, and turned to address both Natan and his remaining soldiers. "Men! And ladies! We're going to need to strike while the iron is hot! Anyone with remaining potions should drink them now, because we're going to have to fight our way up to the keep and take it back to end this siege. Our heroic friend has given us a starting point; now, we've gotta show her what the Kvatch Guard can do! Who's with me?!"

Natan had to give the captain credit: he was good at working up people's spirits. The remaining men of Kvatch's guard raised their weapons in a cheer and followed their captain in his assault on the gate. Natan fell behind, settling in a stance that would allow him to move and change angles of attack with ease.

The gate opened.

The soldiers charged.

The Battle for Kvatch had begun.

Page break

Three days later, dusk fell on a bloodied and burned but now liberated Kvatch. Natan grunted through his teeth as an army medic pulled the torniquet around his right arm tight, cutting off the blood and slowing the flow from the stumps of his last two fingers.

"Hopefully there's someone who can do Restoration still shut up in the chapel," Natan muttered, glancing at his hand. "I've done everything I can, but I'm running on nothing."

"You've done everything we could have possibly asked of you," Matius, the guard captain, said as he came over from inspecting another soldier's wounds. "Without you, we'd all probably be dead by now. Instead, everyone I had at the gates is still here. I just wish we could do more for you."

"Just get me to the Chapel. I can take it from there."

Natan stood, stumbled, and was caught by Matius in the nick of time. The guard captain shook his head and lifted Natan's arm over his shoulder.

"I'm getting you to the Chapel, all right. But I doubt that any healer worth their magic is going to let you move anywhere for three days."

Natan shook his head, both at the statement and against the sudden dizziness. "Don't have time for that. Daedra..."

"Worry about anything outside of Kvatch later." Matius looked for soldiers who were still on their feet and relatively able to swing their weapons. "You two! Make sure our way to the Chapel is clear."

"Sir!"

Natan's memory of getting to the chapel was a little hazy, but they evidently made it in the end. He and Matius were met at the chapel doors by the two soldiers who had been sent ahead, and a shorter man in the dark robes of a priest.

"Is this..."

Matius nodded. "Just show me where to put her."

The priest led them to a small room just off the vestibule which had been turned into a very makeshift hospital. Natan spotted a basic mortar and pestle on a side table beside some leaves as he was placed onto a row of crates that had been made into a bed.

Natan felt the warm rush of Restoration magic flow through him. He tried to pull on his own magic to aid it, but he was so tired...

Through heavy eyes he saw the priest frown. "Don't do that. You'll kill yourself if you try to use magic."

Natan grunted and tried to play it off, but his words came out a mumble.

The priest frowned deeper, casting a quiet diagnostic spell. He drew in a gasp. "How are you not dead?"

"More potions in my... veins... than blood..." Natan slurred. "Can't..."

The priest was already casting, spells flowing into one another so fast Natan couldn't follow. He felt some semblance of strength return before his vision went from blurred to black.

Page break

Natan woke to the faraway feeling of the priest slapping his face. "...can't fall asleep now! You'll never..."

Reality drifted in and out, but the one constant was the priest's face. He was always there, lips moving in a silent chant, eyes never leaving Natan. He put everything he could give into healing Natan, and Natan began to love him for it.

Page break

Natan snapped awake as if he'd been flung into a half-frozen river, gasping in breath. He nearly collided with a head in his haste to leap from the bed.

He found his flight stopped by a firm hand on his chest, pushing him back down to the bed.

"Don't move for now. You're safe. You're in the Chapel of Akatosh, in Kvatch. If you move right now, you'll disturb the poultice and start the blood flow again."

Natan sank back to the bed, taking in the weary but still present face of the priest who'd been healing him. "How long..."

"Twelve hours. I'm surprised you didn't sleep longer." The priest's voice was gentle, and Natan found it soothed him. He let himself relax back onto the blanket below him.

"Good. You can relax now."

Natan nodded. "Sorry. Been a long few days."

"I heard from Captain Matius. You almost single-handedly broke the Siege of Kvatch." The priest smiled. "The refugees you saved – not to mention the guard – have started calling you the Hero of Kvatch."

Natan shrugged, suddenly uncomfortable. "It needed doing. And I needed to find someone in Kvatch, anyway."

The priest nodded. "Family?"

"Not exactly." Natan glanced at the door, which was closed, gauging if it was heavy enough to block their conversation off from anyone outside. The priest noticed his glance.

"We're the only ones left in the Chapel. Captain Matius and the remaining guards escorted the refugees out of the walls several hours ago. I remained here with you; you weren't in any fit state to be moved."

"Right. I'm looking for a priest, actually. His name's Martin."

"That would be me."

Natan let out a chuckle through his nose. "Of course. It's just too much of a coincidence to be anything but fate."

"The gods work in mysterious ways." Martin glanced at the door. "Very mysterious ways, of late."

"You don't know the half of it." Natan started to sit, and Martin let him, so he sat up and looked Martin dead in the eye. "I'm looking for you because apparently you're the only one who can save Tamriel. You heard that the Emperor's been assassinated?"

"I can't say I have, but given the sudden population spike of Daedra, it makes sense." Martin closed his eyes for a moment. "And his heirs are dead as well, aren't they?"

"They are." Natan looked at Martin with a considering eye. "Conjuration specialist?"

"Of a sort."

"We'll have to talk shop later. Anyway. I was there to witness his murder. He gave me the Amulet of Kings and sent me to find his last remaining heir. The Grand Master of the Blades – his bodyguards – pointed me in your direction."

Martin stared at Natan. His mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out.

"I know it's mad. I know I'm absolutely Sheogorath-damned crazy. But I'll swear to anything you want that I'm not lying."

Martin's gaze dropped to the floor. Natan gave him a second to have his existential crisis, folding his hands in his lap and waiting. Finally, Martin blinked, sighed, and face Natan again.

"It sounds utterly impossible, but... I believe you. Something in me tells me that you are not lying and that you have not been misled."

Natan nodded his agreement. "Like I said. I know it doesn't make sense. Hell, I wouldn't believe it if I hadn't just lived through it. But it's real. You're the last Septim, Uriel's own son, and I need you to save Tamriel."

Martin looked him in the eye. "I will do what I can. But... I can't do it alone."

"I'll be right there beside you," Natan swore. "Every step of the way."

Martin reached out his hand, and Natan took it.

The moment was... not broken, but some of the intensity faded when Martin smiled. Natan found he liked the expression; he wanted to see more of it.

_I'm in trouble._

"You know... I don't even know your name. I don't even think Captain Matius does. So, tell me... what can I call the famous Hero of Kvatch?"

Natan smiled a more genuine smile than he had in what seemed like an age. "Natan. Natan Solveign."


	2. Chapter 2

"I really don't think this is wise."

"I'm really not worried about what's wise," Natan returned as he struggled off the makeshift bed. "The wound's just about healed anyway; all I have to worry about is the missing blood, really."

Martin's lips pursed. "That's what I'm worried about. You're still in no fit state to be travelling halfway across Cyrodiil."

"Well, you're coming along, aren't you? You can back me up." Natan finally managed to stand without swaying, and he grinned. "See? Good as new!"

Martin sighed, but knowing he'd never get anywhere arguing, he shut his mouth and led Natan out of the chapel.

They had no escort as they crossed the plaza toward the gates, but most of the Daedra who hadn't been destroyed in the previous battle had either been removed by the guards or had retreated to Oblivion of their own accords.

As they left Kvatch, Martin paused and looked up at the city walls. "I'm going to miss Kvatch. I have a feeling it will be a very long time before I see it again."

"Probably," Natan agreed. "Course, by the time you do see it again, it'll probably at least have started rebuilding."

"True."

They were met at the bottom of the winding hill path by a group of guards, who stood and saluted Natan as he passed. The refugees all crowded around, trying to get a glimpse of their hero.

"Give him a little room," Martin called. "He's still recovering from the battle."

The guards and refugees backed off a little, allowing Matius to pass through and greet Natan with a firm handshake.

"Kvatch will never forget what you've done for us," he said. "And I'll make sure the rest of the country knows it, too."

Natan nodded, trying to cling to the dregs of his confidence as he was overwhelmed with attention. "You did a lot yourself. I wouldn't have been able to do any of it without your men behind me."

Matius grinned, passing on to Martin. "Thank you for taking such good care of our hero."

Martin smiled. "My job's hardly half-finished, yet. He's been called north. I'm going along to keep him alive and out of trouble."

The captain looked confused for a split-second, then let out a hearty laugh. "Good luck with that!"

The guards formed an impromptu honor guard, allowing the refugees a good vantage point to see their hero off. Natan drew himself to his full height and made his way through the crowd as quickly as possible without looking like he was running away.

When they passed out of sight of the refugee camp, Natan let out his breath, falling back into his usual slouch.

"You're not much for being the centre of attention, are you?"

"Not at all. At least, not for that reason."

Martin said nothing, but Natan could feel the other man's considering eyes on his back as they started north.

Page break

As they passed the northern perimeter of burned grass surrounding Kvatch, the greenery returned with a vengeance that almost surprised Natan. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Martin looking all around in wonder. It was an impressive sight before them, to be sure, but Natan was so used to scenes of nature's great beauty that he was having little trouble paying attention to the paths ahead of them.

"How wonderful it is, to be so surrounded by the gods' great creations again, after so long around those of mortals," Martin said softly. "I hadn't realized it had been so long since I last left Kvatch."

"I do love the hills," Natan commented. He gestured around, to a berry bush nearby, a fruit tree there, the flower vine creeping up its trunk. "You don't see a lot of these materials out east near the water."

Martin smiled at him from the side. "Materials? Are you an alchemist?"

Natan nodded. "Taught by a former Guild mage in the Imperial City in my youth, but my mother started telling me about plants when I was a wee thing."

"So she was an alchemist as well?"

"Her mother was." Natan cast his eyes away. "She died when Mum was small, so she couldn't teach her too much. Not enough to get her accepted as an apprentice."

"That's a pity," Martin said, softly enough that Natan almost believed him. "I'm sure she would have excelled."

"Yeah. She loved plants. Animals, too. I was always taking in injured wild ones, and she'd always help me care for them, much as I'd let her."

"You were very in control of the situation, I'm certain."

Natan laughed. "I really was. Headstrong little thing, I don't know how she put up with me."

"I'd imagine she was just as much so." Martin smiled. "I'd have liked to learn from her. I was always a hopeless alchemist."

Natan looked at Martin; seeing no mask or trace of guile in his eyes, he smiled back, his eyes lowering shyly.

"She'd have loved you."

They continued on in a comfortable silence for some time, until Martin called for a pause to check Natan's dressings.

"The flesh seems to have almost grown back to cover the bone," Martin murmured. "Still, best to keep it wrapped."

"Of course, I can't use magic on it," Natan grumbled. "I don't care what the scar tissue looks like, it's not like I expected it'd look like a finger again, anyway."

"That's not the main reason. If your flesh is grown back too quickly, the growth may remain accelerated and continue taking resources from the rest of your body," Martin lectured. "My Restoration Master had seen people who wasted away from overgrown scar tissue like that. It's a slow and inevitable starvation death."

Natan sighed. "I see the point. I just hate having an open wound like this. Too risky."

"I know. I don't like it either. But you're still needed, so don't die on me."

Natan smirked at him. "You're cute when you're protective."

Martin almost spluttered, but he managed to keep his composure. "I - have not had anyone tell me so."

"You mean you weren't mobbed by girls trying to drag you off to be married? I'm shocked, I really am."

"I suppose there was some of that," Martin mused. "Not exactly for marriage, but..."

Natan couldn't help but laugh at the bizarre mixture of thoughtfulness and revulsion that crossed Martin's face in the next moment. Martin joined in, but the laughter faded as the thought that something was still wrong with Natan crossed his mind.

"You're not breathing deeply enough," Martin realized aloud. "Did you take a hit to the chest in the battle? I didn't see any blood on your... bandages..."

Natan shifted uncomfortably as Martin's voice trailed off.

"You wrap your chest too tightly," Martin said softly. "You need to loosen them. You need to be able to take deep breaths, especially when you're exerting yourself. Like in battle."

Natan stared at his feet, trying to work up the courage to explain.

_In for a Septim. Literally, in this case._

"It doesn't feel right," Natan mumbled. "My chest. It's all... wrong." Natan pleaded silently, to Martin, to anything that was listening, that Martin wouldn't hate him. Would understand.

"Tying your bandages tighter helps with that?"

"Yeah."

"I think I see," Martin said slowly. "I knew a man when I was a child, who felt that way about the body he was born in. He taught me a great deal... I looked up to him. And I saw how he was treated by others. Those who never knew that he was not physically male treated him much better." Martin reached out and touched Natan's chin, lifting Natan's eyes to meet his. "What matters to me is your safety. I don't want you to die before your time."

Natan felt his eyes well, and he fought back the tears with all his might.

"Thank you."

Martin smiled, that same soft smile from the day before, the smile that made Natan want to kiss him and never let him go. He almost did, leaning forward just a little, before he could stop himself.

Natan almost let himself believe that Martin looked excited when he did that.

Natan glanced down again, at his hand, at his boots, breaking the spell. Martin nodded gently, then stood.

"I'll go fill our waterskins. I heard a river nearby. Please... for me... loosen your bandages so you can breathe properly."

Then he was gone, and Natan stared after him for a moment before reaching up to undo the buckles of his over-tunic.

Page break

They made good time, arriving at Weynon Priory just after noon the next day to find the main building belching smoke into the air as flames began to lick up the walls. One of the monks was attempting to flee the building, but was cut down by red-robed assassins before he made it ten feet.

Natan already had a firebolt ready to fly as he charged over the crest of the hill to the priory. Martin followed in time to see the overpowered fireball splash into an assassin's chest, licking around his conjured armor to light his robes and sending him flying off his feet.

Martin quickly chanted up a Flame Atronach, who immediately leapt into the fray, appearing between Natan and an assassin charging to counter in a flash of fire. Martin himself called up a lightning bolt and hurled it at a third assassin, who was nocking an arrow.

In the short lull that followed, Martin dashed over to the fallen monk.

"What happened?"

"Attacked... Prior dead... Brother Jauffre is holed up in the chapel... he's the last." With that, the monk breathed his last, and Martin whirled towards the small chapel building.

A team of assassins stood several feet away from the outlying building, sending fireballs flying into the foundations. Martin took off in that direction, loosing sparks at the mages as he ran.

Natan caught his shift in focus and followed suit, dashing toward the chapel and leaping through the doors to engage with the three surrounding Jauffre. He and the Blade made quick work of them, then dashed back out to help Martin with the mage team.

"Where's the Amulet?" Natan demanded as soon as the mages dropped.

"In my office – didn't have it with me -"

As if in response, one of the windows of the main building blew out in a burst of glass. A red-robed figure leapt out of it, climbed onto a horse and kicked it into a gallop away from the three still standing.

"Please tell me that wasn't your office," Natan muttered lowly. Jauffre shook his head.

"It wasn't. But I fear that the Amulet is beyond us now -" Another window burst out, belching fire.

"I can't sense it," Natan agreed. "But it's not broken – it's just gone. Probably one of the Mythic Dawn assassins escaped with it."

Jauffre looked at him sharply. Natan didn't catch it, but Martin did, and he wondered what it meant.

"Yes, that is the most likely outcome. An artifact like the Amulet of Kings would be difficult to break, even on purpose," Martin added. "I doubt that the fire even warmed it."

"I hope you're right." Jauffre descended on Natan. "Is this Martin?"

"It is," Martin cut in, irritated. "I suppose you must be Jauffre."

"I am, sire. But it may be best to wait on more formal introductions until you're safe." Jauffre glanced down the hill beside the priory. "It looks like the stables weren't hit too badly. I'd wager that the stable master is dead, but the horses may not be."

Luckily, three horses remained in the stables. The stablemaster was indeed beyond help, but the horses were more scared than they were injured, so it took only a short time before Natan, Martin and Jauffre were galloping for Bruma.

Page break

A full day's travel later, they arrived at Cloud Ruler Temple just north of Bruma. Jauffre signaled to the Blades guarding the gate, and it opened before them. Jauffre led them into the courtyard, where they dismounted, leaving their horses in the care of the two gate guards.

"Welcome to Cloud Ruler Temple, sire," a Blade said, approaching the group from the top of the stairs. "Your Blades await you."

Martin nodded in response, unsure of what to say. Natan edged over and bumped Martin's shoulder gently with his own as they ascended the stairs.

"They'll hang off your every word. Don't worry too much about it." Natan winked. "They're duty-bound to enjoy your speeches, even if what you're saying is total nonsense."

Martin smiled at him, still nervous, but appreciating the attempt.

Jauffre led him through the honor guard of assembled Blades. Natan hung back, providing an anchor for Martin to look at as he addressed his new soldiers.

Martin had no memory of speaking, but suddenly the Blades were cheering and hailing him, and they filed past him into the temple. Natan followed the lines back up to Martin's side, grinning cheerily.

"What a lovely speech. I'm sure none of the Blades noticed you looked like you were gonna die of fright at the slightest noise."

"Glad to know you have such faith in me, my friend," Martin shot back. "You know, I've delivered sermons as a priest for almost three years now. Speaking in front of a crowd doesn't frighten me."

"Nah. But being Emperor does."

Jauffre cleared his throat, interrupting Martin's reply – not that he had one. "If we could get back to more important matters." He looked to Natan. "You've done well in bringing Martin to us, but your duty is not over yet. I need you to ride for the Imperial City and rendezvous with Baurus. He's been working on investigating the Mythic Dawn. Go and aid him in sniffing out their base. Wherever their leader is, there the Amulet of Kings will be."

Natan nodded, then turned to Martin. "Thank you for your help. I'll keep the wound clean. And I won't heal it any further with magic."

Martin clasped his hand. "Be safe, Natan. And return swiftly."

"I'll do my best."


	3. Chapter 3

Natan slipped into the rooming house that Jauffre had mentioned late the next evening. The common room was full, but there was a space next to Baurus at the bar that Natan took, waiting for the other man to notice him.

Baurus didn't miss a trick. "In a second, I'm going to get up and go to the basement, and the man in the corner behind me is going to follow. I want you to tail us, but don't get up until he's out of the room."

Natan nodded once and gestured to the bartender that he didn't want a drink. The man frowned a little but turned to help another man, and Baurus got up and left.

Sure enough, the man in the corner got up to follow, and Natan gave him a second before squeezing out from the bar and joining them.

Natan got to the bottom of the stairs in time to see the man pull a knife on Baurus. Before Baurus could turn all the way around, Natan had released a fireball at the attacker's back.

"Thanks for the save. Glad you arrived when you did; he's been tailing me for a few days."

Natan nodded, kneeling to inspect the corpse. In a satchel over his shoulder, Natan found a book with a rich red cover, titled "Commentaries on the Mysterium Xarxes, Volume 1". He took it, skimmed through it for a moment, then handed it to Baurus.

"You heard of these 'Commentaries' before?"

"A long time ago. I had a friend in the Mages' Guild who wanted to try and join up with the Mythic Dawn, Mehrunes Dagon's cult. He mentioned something about there being four volumes of their book while he was complaining to someone that he had to find the third for his initiation."

"A Daedric cult?" Baurus frowned thoughtfully. "The Blades have a contact in the Arcane University who researches Daedric cults. Her name's Tar-Meena. She's usually in the public section. She might know something about where to find the other volumes."

Natan nodded. "I'll go find her."

"I'll be here. Let me know what you find out."

Page break

"Are you Tar-Meena?"

"I am. Might I ask who you are?"

"Natan Solveign. Baurus told me you know a lot about Daedric cults."

Tar-Meena studied him for a moment, but she said, "Well, I won't question the Blades. What do you want to know?"

"I need to know anything you can tell me about the Mythic Dawn. I have Volume One of their Commentaries, but I don't know where to start looking for the others."

"Well, the library has a copy of the second volume that you can take a look at. The third and fourth volumes are reputed to be nearly impossible to find, but if there's anyone who might know where you can get ahold of them, it would be Phintias, the owner of First Edition in the Market District."

"Then that's my next stop."

"I hope you manage to find something useful. I'll remain here and see if the library has anything else that might be of use."

"Thank you."

Natan made his way to the Market District, wasting no time in searching for First Edition – he remembered precisely where it was from his youth.

Phintias looked up from a logbook on the counter as Natan entered. "Welcome to First Edition! Are you looking for something I can help you with?"

"I heard you would be the person to talk to about finding a copy of the Commentaries on the Mysterium Xarxes, Volume Three."

Phintias' face lit up. "It just so happens that I have a copy! Unfortunately, I've promised it to someone – his name is Gwinas. He's actually late for his appointment to pick it up..."

"Is there any chance you could sell it to me?"

"I'm sorry, but an order is a promise that I'm not willing to break. You'll have to speak to Gwinas."

Natan waited outside. The very next customer, who came only a few minutes after Natan left, was a harried-looking Altmer.

Natan stopped him as he came out. "Are you Gwinas? I had a couple questions about the book you ordered."

The Altmer's expression became guilty, which was swiftly replaced by anxiety. "Um - yes, I'm Gwinas. W-what did you want to know?"

"I need to study the Commentaries. I'm looking for the Mythic Dawn's watering hole."

"Well, you're not the only one. I've been on this path far longer than you, and I'm not giving up my chance at joining the Mythic Dawn for any stranger who demands it."

"Your chance – the Mythic Dawn murdered the Emperor!"

Gwinas' face became white as an altar cloth in the Temple of the One. "The - the Emperor? I had no idea... I knew they were a Daedric cult, and I'd heard their fearsome reputation... but..."

"They worship Mehrunes Dagon. What did you expect?" Natan shook his head. "Can you please give me the book?"

"Of course! And, if you're tracking them down, you'll want this..." He handed Natan the book, then rummaged around in his bag and retrieved a letter. "This will give you the details, but the long and short is that I have a meeting arranged with a member who was going to give me his copy of the fourth volume... my sponsor."

"Thank you. Stay far away from the Mythic Dawn."

"O-of course!"

Natan headed for the Elven Gardens District, intent on telling Baurus about his finds. The Blade met him in the middle, just off the dividing street.

"You're a hard man to track down," Baurus muttered.

"Good thing I was looking for you then. I found volume three, and I have a meeting with a member in the sewers to get volume 4."

"Good work." Baurus scanned the note. "I know where he's talking about – I know the sewers well. Follow me."

Baurus led him to the meeting point. They stopped just outside to put a plan together.

"The Sponsor'll proably know what Gwinas looks like. As soon as he sees us, he'll know we're not him and attack."

Baurus nodded. "Inside this room is a set of stairs leading up to a catwalk. You can hide up there so you have a good vantage point for magic, and I'll sit at the table and signal for the Sponsor."

"Okay."

As quickly and quietly as he could, Natan made for the stairs. Baurus waited until he signaled to approach the chair.

A fireball came blasting out of a side passage a moment later. Baurus dodged as Natan returned fire, dropping the cultist who came running out to see if Baurus was dead.

Another pair charged out after their fallen comrade, but they were quickly dispatched. Natan joined Baurus on the floor, searching the dead cultists for the book. Natan held it up quickly.

"Good. Take that to Tar-Meena as fast as you can and see if she can help you figure out the location of the Mythic Dawn. I'll clean up here."

Page break

It took Tar-Meena and Natan until morning had risen the next day to decipher the location hidden in the 'Commentaries': "Green Emperor Way Where Tower Touches Midday Sun." Natan immediately made for the centre of the city, pausing only to thank Tar-Meena for her help.

Natan followed the shadow of the White-Gold Tower at noon to a mausoleum. On one of the side walls was a panel. As Natan watched, a red outline appeared, which he recognized as Cyrodiil's borders on a map. He pulled out his own map for comparison, and sketched a mark where the Mythic Dawn's map was marked.

Natan ran for the Elven Gardens district and nearly crashed into Baurus as he tried to stop Natan.

"Did you find it?"

Natan flashed his map in the other man's face. "I'm going. Tell Jauffre I'll be back in three days, or not at all."


	4. Chapter 4

Natan made his way into the caverns of Lake Arrius as quickly as he could, dropping any cultist in his way. He prayed that his hunch was right and that Mankar Camoran had the Amulet of Kings with him.

Either way, Natan headed toward the main chamber for the gathering he'd overheard two cultists talking about.

He arrived in the chamber just in time to see a man who could only be Camoran vanish into a dark portal. Natan's arrival did not go unnoticed, but Natan was ready for a fight.

When it was over, Natan stumbled to the dais from which Camoran had disappeared. There was a corpse on an altar, and just before it, a lectern stood holding a book.

The Mysterium Xarxes.

Mehrunes Dagon's holy book.

Natan thought it seemed rather innocuous for such a powerful artifact, until he got within five feet of the book and winced at its aura. Its magic was loud and deep, resonating in his skull like the ringing of a colossal gong.

As he reached towards it, the pitch of the resonation rose into a whine so high that Natan almost couldn't perceive it.

Natan's hand finally reached the book, and the painful flow of magic concentrated in his hands. It felt like a disease, crawling through the flow of magic in his body, and Natan instinctively summoned a barrier around himself as he fought back the pollution.

The contest of wills ended in a draw. While he could still concentrate, Natan wrapped the book in a cloth torn from one of the nearby dead cultists' robes and placed the book into his enchanted pouch. The enchantments on the pouch dulled the feeling of the Mysterium Xarxes' magic, and Natan breathed a sigh of relief. Pulling and downing a potion from another pouch, Natan made his stumbling way back out of the caverns to the copse of trees where he'd left his horse.

Page break

It was a much wearier and weaker Natan that arrived at Cloud Ruler Temple late the next evening. He'd ridden all day and night, trying to get back to Jauffre to pass on his information, and he hadn't paused to find potion ingredients or other sources of healing.

Jauffre met him at the base of the temple stairs, followed shortly by Martin, who took one look at Natan and ran to catch him before he collapsed.

"You're back! And – are you alright? Tell me that's not all your blood."

Natan threw his arm over Martin's offered shoulder, pulling on deep reserves to remain standing long enough to report. "Mankar Camoran has the Amulet of Kings. Saw him disappear into an Oblivion portal. Too late to stop him, but I killed everyone else there and took their holy book."

Martin gasped. "By the Nine! You touched the Mysterium Xarxes!? In this state!? Natan, that could have killed you!"

Natan grunted. "Didn't have time for anything else. Ran out of potions."

"You've done well," Jauffre interjected. "Martin will take the Mysterium Xarxes and see if he can find the way to Camoran so we can retrieve the Amulet."

"Of course. But first, I'm going to heal Natan." Martin began his and Natan's long, slow trek up the stairs, missing the irritated look on Jauffre's face.

"We really should stop meeting like this," Martin muttered to Natan, who let out a somewhat wheezy chuckle before coughing hard.

"Fine," he coughed when Martin looked concerned. "Took a bit of a blow to the chest is all."

Martin's concern took on an exasperated edge. "That doesn't sound like a bit of a blow."

Martin led Natan to a private room on an upper level, where he sat him down on a large and comfortable bed and began to chant up Restoration magic.

"Utter disregard for your own health," Martin muttered as he waited for a spell to do its work. "Come on, I'll need your shirt and bandages off to make sure your chest can heal properly."

Natan complied – or tried to; he found he couldn't currently bend his left arm at the angle required to unbuckle his leather overshirt, but Martin could see this and came to his rescue.

Martin paused at the bandage layer. "You loosened them," he said softly.

Natan looked away. "You said it was better to. I... figured you'd know better than me."

Martin touched his shoulder. "Thank you, Natan. I know it makes you uncomfortable, but I really do just want to keep you healthy."

Natan was silent, and Martin continued about his work, shifting Natan's upper body into different positions to make sure his ribs hadn't been pushed or broken into the wrong positions.

As Martin laid his hands on Natan's back and let his magic flow, Natan asked, "Why do you care so much?"

Martin didn't respond immediately, so Natan continued. "I mean... if you'd seen me in a crowd last week, you wouldn't have known me from Tiber Septim. I know I saved you and a lot of other people, but..."

"But?"

"But... when you heal me, it seems almost... personal. Like you care about me, not just the Hero of Kvatch or the person who saved your life."

Natan almost couldn't believe his audacity, but Martin seemed to have the opposite in mind.

"You say that as though you're not worth it. As though you're wasting my time in allowing me to heal you."

Natan opened his mouth to defend himself, but nothing came out. Finally, he sighed. "I'm not, really. I mean... tactically, I'm a useful person to have around. But other than that... I'm just another person."

"Maybe that's why I care so much. Because I can see that you're a person, and all people deserve care."

Natan closed his eyes. "You're so... good. You're such a good person. I don't deserve someone like you watching my back."

Martin finished healing Natan's wounds without a word; Natan was terrified to break the silence. When he was done, Martin stood and turned to leave, stopping in the doorway.

"Rest here for the night. I'll make sure you're not disturbed." His expression was soft, and he looked Natan in the eyes. "You're wrong... you're not just another person. But you're not just tactically useful. You..." Martin considered his words for a moment. "I heal you because I care for you; not just your tactical use, or your personhood. I care for Natan... and you are more than just whatever others see when they look at you."

Natan sat, dumbstruck, until Martin nodded to him and left.

Page break

Natan woke the next morning feeling on the whole much better than he had the day before. He stood without swaying and made his way to the Great Hall of the temple, after asking a Blade standing guard outside his room where Martin was.

Sure enough, Martin was seated at one of the long tables in the hall, nose buried in a book. Natan smiled at the sight for a moment before he approached.

Martin looked up at the sound of his footsteps and smiled at Natan. "Good to see some colour back in your face, my friend. How are you feeling?"

"Better. Course, I had an excellent healer saving my ass."

Martin chuckled. "Always nice to hear." He grew serious. "Do you have..."

In answer, Natan reached into his belt pouch and removed the Mysterium Xarxes. After a short mental battle against the book, he handed it over to Martin.

Martin scowled in distaste. "Its call is very..."

"Loud?"

"Yes. And powerfully seductive, in some ways. This will take some preparation to handle." He looked at Natan seriously. "You've done well in bringing this to me, my friend. But I have more that I must ask of you."

"Just tell me what it is."

"You're a Conjurer, yes?"

Natan nodded. "Trained by a Master who'd retired from a high rank in the Mages' Guild in my youth. I never really fell out of practice, though."

"Good. In that case, I ask if you're willing to work with me in translating the Mysterium Xarxes. It will not give up its secrets easily, I'm sure... Alone, it would take me months to determine where Mankar Camoran went. But two heads work better than one. Will you help me?"

Natan pulled up a chair. "Sounds tedious. I'm in."

At first glance inside its pages, the Mysterium Xarxes was utterly unintelligible. The diagrams made no sense, on top of being written in some long-dead script. But he and Martin went through each diagram carefully, and they began to notice patterns in the symbolic arrangements, words and phrases repeated in multiple diagrams.

Much like in high theoretical alchemy, as patterns emerged, the diagrams became readable. Or at least they began to make more sense at a glance. True comprehension would only come when they managed to find out more about the script – like how its letters related to those of Daedric or Tamrielic.

It took four days and many scourings of the Cloud Ruler Temple library to crack the script. Some characters were written on an ancient, fading scroll, alongside Daedric words that seemed roughly equivalent.

From there, it was a slow progression of translating individual words from a diagram and fitting their meanings together to find the magical intent of the diagrams.

"It almost looks like Camoran was trying to create a new realm of Oblivion for himself," Martin murmured, staring down at one particular diagram. "Everything we've deciphered so far is referring to manipulating Oblivion energy to create rather than summon. This is very advanced and complicated Conjuration magic. Most Master Conjurers have never even seen this sort of theory before."

"I once heard my Master telling another Master Conjurer in the Guild about something like this. He claimed he'd figured out how to forge a weapon made of pure Oblivion energy, but he couldn't prove that he'd been able to get it to work." Natan scowled. "I was the one who went and retrieved that damn book for him. The old bastard..."

Martin gave him a sideward glance. "Where would you even find a book like that? This sort of magic would take a Daedric Prince's power to wield properly."

Natan shrugged. "Can't say I know where the book had come from originally, though I suspect Hermaeus Mora might. I found it in a half-crumbling tomb on the border of Skyrim. Those Nords sure knew how to make draugr..." He shivered at the memory.

"You've led such an extraordinary life. How do you have such a low opinion of yourself?"

Natan stared down at the book in his hands, eyes skimming the page but taking in no words. Finally, he sighed.

"The orphanage wasn't kindly to most of us. It wasn't... we had food, most days, and a roof over our heads. But the priests were strict, and I couldn't sit still. Didn't want to act ladylike. I got in more fights with the boys and arguments with the priests in my first six months there than anyone had in their whole damn lives. And I spent seven years there."

"I'm sorry. As a priest, they should have known better. If their calling was to work with children, they should have tried to understand the children in their care."

Natan ran a hand through his hair. "Thanks. Doesn't matter now. It just grates." He went back to his book, ignoring the thoughtful way Martin looked at him for the next little while.

Page break

The next day, they made another breakthrough: an immensely complicated series of diagrams about the process of carving out a place in Oblivion in which to create a realm. Martin and Natan shared a look.

"We're getting closer," Martin murmured. "We just need a spell to transport one to one's realm. Camoran's already done the worst of it for us."

The necessary diagram was discovered in short order, and one of the ingredients to the ritual was translated: blood of a Daedra.

"Daedra haven't really got blood," Natan muttered. "Is it a metaphor?"

"It must be. You're right, Daedra don't have blood, but they are made up of spiritual energy. Perhaps the ritual requires – a Daedric Artifact!"

Natan and Martin stared at each other. Finally, Natan groaned. "For the sake of Nirn... I'll do it. But don't expect me to be happy about it."

"Thank you, my friend."

Natan pulled open his map and pointed at an old mark he'd made in his youth. "Probably the easiest one would be Malacath's shrine. He's the closest." He nodded. "Shouldn't be more than about three days. I'll go let Jauffre know.

"Maybe this'll get him off my back," he added in a mutter as he left.

Page break

"That is excellent news. Follow up on the lead immediately. When you return, I'll have you begin your investigation of the spies."

Natan barely stopped himself from rolling his eyes, as he nodded and turned to leave Jauffre's office. The old man was very demanding, he thought, considering he had no direct authority over Natan.

If he'd dedicated himself to anyone's service, it was the Emperor's. Jauffre may answer to him, but Natan served only his interests – and Jauffre was not his heir, no matter what he thought of his place.

Still, someone needed to root out the spies, given that they were a threat to the Emperor; out of the Blades, Natan could only judge Jauffre and Baurus' ability to do the job properly, and the old man wasn't about to do it.

So why Jauffre didn't have someone else do the job, Natan didn't know, but he wouldn't complain, as they both knew Natan was capable of handling the spies.

And if he could do it, why shouldn't he?

Natan shoved away the thought that he didn't want to face Martin, and his own growing attraction to Martin, with a frown. He was... he knew full well that Martin probably wasn't interested in him. Most people wouldn't be, if he really looked at the facts, so it wasn't that big an issue.

Really, Jauffre was just a controlling ass, but as Natan would have taken care of the spies in any case, it didn't matter if it felt too much like an order.

Natan saddled up the late Prior's horse and mounted, striking out for the Shrine of Malacath as fast as he could go.

Page break

He saw the statue before its worshippers, nearly two days later. He urged the horse on and dismounted before the hill's base.

The head Orc watched him approach the statue with a sardonic tilt to his mouth.

"What, aren't you going to stop me?"

The Orc shook his head. "You belong here as much as any of us, brother."

Natan shrugged away the thought of why as he approached the shrine. He placed an offering – a small bowl of troll fat – at the base of the statue, then stepped away.

"Lord Malacath? I have need of your aid."

"_You want something? You gotta do something for me, first."_

Natan held back a sigh. Why did he have to be ordered around by everyone? "What needs doing?"

"_Some nearby lord took my ogres! My little brothers are in chains in Lord Drad's mines! I don't like that. Go free my brothers and get them out of there!"_

"I'll do that." Natan turned to the priest. "Where can I find Lord Drad's mines?"

Two hour's ride got him to the entrance of the mines. Natan killed the guards quickly, then stalked through the mines to the ogres' holding cells. The locks broke with little effort.

"Malacath has sent me to free you. The guards are dead. Go."

The ogres grunted to each other for a second, then lumbered for the mine entrance. Natan followed them, declining watching them leave the area in favour of mounting up and heading back for the shrine.

"I've freed the ogres," he told the statue.

He heard a thundering laugh in his head. "_Yeah, you did! Now the ogres own Lord Drad! And make him eat dirt! Ha! Keep up the good work, and be nice to my little brothers!"_

Before Natan, the glowing shape of a great warhammer appeared. Natan reached out to grasp the handle – with both hands – and the glow dissipated as fast as it had appeared.

Natan felt the magic of the artifact wash over him, and nodded, swinging it over his shoulder and trooping back down the hill to his horse.

Martin would be pleased.


End file.
